


A Simple Game of Chess

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Charles You Slut, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, chess as a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Erik keeps beating Charles at chess and Charles can't take it anymore. The method he uses to finally win isn't in any chess manual, but it gets him a victory in more ways than one . . .





	A Simple Game of Chess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acherik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acherik/gifts).



> For acherik from a prompt on tumblr :)

Erik keeps beating him at chess and Charles hates it. Charles wasn't the best player at his school or at uni, but he was one of the best. He's used to winning more matches than he loses. He hasn't won a single game against Erik, not one.

Oddly enough if Erik were triumphalist about it, gloating over his victory and rubbing Charles' nose in it, he could dismiss him as a smart-arse and think no more of it. But Erik is modest, downplaying his skill, claiming some moves were more luck than judgement, reassuring Charles that this winning streak won't last. It's driving him to distraction.

He scours his chess books. He tries out different opening moves. He works on his endgame. He attempts new and unusual strategies. It's no good, he still loses.

"You nearly had me there," says Erik.

"No I didn't," says Charles, tightly. "You annihilated me."

"Hardly. Anyway, you can get your revenge tomorrow."

He gives Charles a friendly pat on the shoulder. Erik is not a tactile person, but he touches Charles.

"Somehow I doubt it."

Erik's hand lingers on his shoulder.

"We don't have to play," he says softly. "I don't want to play if you're not enjoying it."

Charles has promised to stay out of Erik's head and he's kept that promise. However, it's hard to block out surface thoughts and emotions, particularly when a mind shines as brightly as Erik's and when long, elegant fingers are gently squeezing his shoulder. Touch always enhances his telepathy. He can feel Erik's affection, his concern and, underlying it all, his desire.

Charles was attracted to Erik from the moment he pulled him out of the water. He's been attracted to men as well as women since he was a precocious twelve year old. Society says such desires are wrong, sick and abnormal. Charles has been in and out of people's heads for a quarter of a century and knows damn well they're nothing of the sort.

Erik is attracted more to men than women, though most of his sexual experiences have been with women. Erik, so fixed on his revenge, so certain of his mission and his methods, struggles with his desires. Dark memories of pink triangles and what happened to their wearers drift like ash. This ambivalence leaks through as he stands over Charles, clasping his shoulder. He wants Charles, but he's fearful of how Charles might react and he can't bear to risk their friendship.

so beautiful, so brilliant, so gentle, so kind, he'd be disgusted, he'd hate me, I am disgusting, I am hateful, what if he can hear me, what if he already knows, perhaps he'd pity me, poor Erik, poor pervert, can't help himself, couldn't bear that, it's too risky, too dangerous, too distracting

Charles bolsters his shields and Erik's internal monologue fades away. Erik lets go of his shoulder.

"Of course I'm enjoying it," lies Charles. "Same time tomorrow night. I'll get you next time, see if I don't."

Erik's face remains calmly neutral, but Charles gets a little burst of joy from him.

Come tomorrow night and not only is Charles losing again, but the heliographic flicker of Erik's desire and shame and fear is giving him a headache. Fuck it, he's had enough of this.

Charles lightly taps his forefinger on his plump lips as he considers his move. He notices Erik noticing. He moves his knight and inserts the tip of his finger between his lips. Erik's next move is not exactly a mistake, but he could have made a better one. Charles gnaws on his red lower lip with white teeth. Erik misses the chance to take Charles' bishop. Charles runs his pink tongue along his upper lip. Erik makes a questionable move. Charles casually draws his fingers down his throat. Erik makes a disastrous move. Charles slides his hand under his collar and runs it across his collarbone. Erik makes a catastrophic move.

"Check and mate in three moves," says Charles.

Erik gazes dazedly at the board, mind aflame with fantasies of Charles' lips doing filthy things.

"Oh, oh, yes, I see. Well done, Charles. I told you you'd get your revenge."

His breathing is rapid and his voice is shaky and he's careful to keep one hand in front of his crotch.

"Fancy another game?" he asks, doing a bloody good job of acting unaffected.

"Fuck chess," says Charles.

He shoves past the small table, catching the board with his thigh and sending pieces flying. He straddles Erik's lap, takes a firm hold of his hair and kisses him deep and slow. Erik freezes, then wraps his arms round Charles and kisses back. Tongues slither together. Erik tastes of brandy. He's not as experienced a kisser as Charles, so Charles, being a bossy bastard, takes over. He nips at Erik's lips, licks into his mouth, swirls his tongue around, then draws Erik's tongue into his mouth and gives it a thorough sucking. He pulls off to catch his breath.

Erik looks wrecked. His hair's a mess, there's a deep pink flush over his high cheekbones and his lips are glistening with spit. His cock is an insistent pressure against Charles' arse. He feels wrecked too, all joy and lust and amazement and disbelief.

He looks at Charles with those wonderful grey-green eyes.

"Do you . . . do you truly want this?"

Charles smiles and strokes his cheek.

"I've wanted this ever since I saw you in that wetsuit."

Erik laughs and, oh, it's such a soft thing. Charles grinds his hips, rubbing his cock against Erik's solid abs and his arse on Erik's impressive prick. Erik gasps. Charles grinds harder and faster and hauls up Erik's turtleneck so he can play with his nipples. Erik trembles under him.

"Unzip us with your powers, darling."

He does so. Charles frees his own cock, then reaches into Erik's pants and pops him out of his boxers.

"Bloody hell! Now that's what I call a cock."

Erik ducks his head, almost shy. Charles strokes his massive cock, loving the weight of it, the satiny softness of the taut skin, the solidity of his erection. He spits in his hand and starts working him in earnest. Erik,rubs his hands up and down Charles' back and flanks as though he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Erik's leaking pre-come now. Charles loves the slightly sour smell of it. He pushes their cocks together and wraps his hand round them both. Erik quivers from top to toe. Charles jerks them off with short, sharp movements and a firm grip. Their cocks slide together, moistened with saliva and pre-come. Erik makes tiny sobbing noises and shakes like a leaf. He clings onto Charles' buttocks with both hands, digging his fingers in. His mind is a riot of pleasure and:

charlescharlescharlescharlescharles

Charles squeezes his balls and Erik comes with a choked cry. His climax is dazzling, dragging Charles over. They come on Charles' hand and each other's cocks and shirts. Erik tucks his head under Charles' chin. It's the most vulnerable Charles has ever seen him; cold, calm, deadly Erik Lehnsherr, undone in his arms.

From then on they rarely play chess. They have much better ways to spend the evening. When they do play chess, Erik always wins. Charles couldn't care less.

The first time they play after Cuba, Charles wins. He's furious.

"You let me win, you condescending, patronising arsehole. Don't you bloody dare go easy on me, you fucker. I might be a cripple, but I don't need your pity, you bastard. Play to win or fuck off!"

Erik had taken off the helmet and was projecting guilt and rage. Rage at himself, at Moira, at the Russians and Americans and at Shaw, still at Shaw. And at Charles, for saying what he said, for choosing the humans over his mutant brothers and sisters, over Erik.

"You want a fucking game? I'll give you a fucking game!"

Erik destroys him. Charles loves it. And he loves it when Erik kisses him and nibbles his earlobes and bites his throat and pinches his nipples and gives him an orgasm that's different from pre-accident orgasms, but still so fucking good.


End file.
